


in every bar there was a super star

by redonthefly



Series: Departures [2]
Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Departures!Frohana, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonthefly/pseuds/redonthefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna hires Kristoff, Departures-style.</p><p>It goes about as well as you expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in every bar there was a super star

The bar itself was just barely visible inside a copse of hickory trees when Anna pulled off the main road, tires crunching cheerfully on the gravel as she bumped along. The radio, which had been threatening to ghost for the last thirty miles, gave a final squawk in the middle of  _Wannabe_ and sputtered slowly into white fuzz, finally bested by the jolting, deeply pitted drive and lack of signal.

There was really nothing for it, Anna thought. They’d been lucky so far, anyway. The tape deck had lasted for their first whole week outside of Darwin, but as the low stretches of the Barkly Tableland had given rise to the Tanami Desert, it had just as surely croaked, spitting out the single copy of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack that Elsa had found stuffed under the passenger seat into tangled spools of shredded ribbon.

It was just past three in the afternoon.

Too early for happy hour and late enough to miss the lunch crowd, which was a happy accident. Anna pulled into the parking lot (which was a large circle of flattened grass) next to a small smattering of other trucks and off-road vehicles in various stages of decay, their original colors indistinguishable under layers of mud and dust. Their own Jeep, a rented, ancient, open-sided death-trap that Elsa refused to drive, fit in nicely. It might have once been red. Anna pushed in the clutch, popped it into neutral, and drifted bumpily into place, the sun-bleached nose of the Jeep neatly perpendicular to the front porch of the bar.

She cut the engine, and sat for a minute before pulling out the crumpled sheet of paper from the pocket of her shorts and squinting at it.

It didn’t look much like a bar, though that wasn’t saying much. Anna was getting rapidly accustomed to bars in all shapes and sizes. There were only a few things you really, truly needed to know when travelling: one, don’t eat dodgy lentils, two, learn how to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in whatever the dominant language of the area is, and three, a bar is a bar, whether it be sleek glass and marble at the top of a high rise building, or at the end of a gravel road on the back roads of nowhere.

Rule four of Anna’s unofficial guidebook for foreign travel: when in doubt, drive until you see the place with the most cars parked in front, and eat dinner there.

This didn’t really qualify, not technically, but she wasn’t planning on eating anyway.

Apart from the flickering ‘Open’ sign hanging on the outside of one of the windows - shades drawn, which made sense given the time of day - and a tin plate advertisement for Victoria Bitters nailed to the siding, there wasn’t any indication that it was a business at all. But the address was correct, as much as she could tell, so she slid out of the front seat, gave the dashboard a pat, squared her shoulders and marched up to the screened front door.

Inside was dark and musty - which she’d been expecting, what with the half-closed window blinds, and dusty like everything surrounding Alice Springs; after a moment of near blindness, her eyes adjusted enough that she could see filaments of dust in the creaky beams of sunlight that escaped the cracks of the shades. Somewhere, a radio was playing.

The bartender looked up from wiping the down the counter, then right back down again, head bobbing gently to the music. There were two women in a booth working through a basket of french fries and a handful of old men at the bar, and, seated in the far corner shoved up next to the pool tables, a younger man. He was tall enough that his long legs sprawled out over the floor, and he was absently bouncing one knee, the rest of him hunched over a newspaper, face hidden by a bush hat that was tipped low over his forehead.

Anna blinked, then headed toward the bar.

“Excuse me,” she said, leaning over a non-sticky patch and waving at the bartender. “Um. Excuse me.  _Excuse ME_.” The bartender, finally roused from the siren song of Shania Twain, looked up and ambled over, smiling a slow and easy sort of smile, and setting down an empty glass next to her on the counter with a soft thunk.

“Drink for you miss? Special today is a homebrew of my own invention.” He visibly perked up at this thought, gesturing to a chalkboard set behind the bar, upon which was scrawled ‘Cool off with a Howler in July, $5.’

“No,” Anna said. “Sorry. I’m actually looking for someone. Kristoff? Bjorgman?”

The barman frowned, then shrugged and picked up the still empty glass. “That’s him in the back. Good luck.”

Anna nodded, nonplussed. “Um. Thanks.”

“And tell him he’s not settled his tab!” He called after her.

Up close, Kristoff was, if anything, taller, except that the closer she got to his table, the more hunched over he became.

“Excuse m -” She started.

“No.” Kristoff’s face was still half covered with his hat, and now that she could distinguish it, a dirty bandana wrapped around his neck. He didn’t look up at her, but reached over with a pen that appeared from somewhere around his right ear and dashed off a couple of letters on the newsprint in front of him. He was finishing a crossword.

“ _What_?”

“No. I’m not here. I’m not going to do it; I’m  _retired_.”

Anna gaped. “You’re not even going to listen to me?”

Kristoff heaved a sigh, and at last turned to look her in the face. He was fair and sunburned, pink across the nose and under the blond stubble covering his chin and cheeks. His eyes were clear and sharp as he glowered at her.

“No,” he repeated, “I’m not.”

Anna shook her head, then, before he had a chance to turn back to the crossword, hooked the second chair out from the table with her foot and swung into it backwards, straddling the seat and draping her arms around the back.

“ _Hey_.”

“Hay is for horses,” she retorted. “Listen, I’ll buy you a drink. Just hear me out.”

“Oaken won’t sell to me anymore,” Kristoff drawled, leaning back in his chair and tipping the back of his hat forward with one hand so it covered his eyes. “You’ll have to do better.”

“You were recommended,” Anna said, scowling. “Though I can’t imagine  _why_. We’re looking for a guide through Uluru-Kata.”

“You wanna climb Ayers Rock you don’t need a guide for that.”

“We’re not going for the rock. We’re looking for a skink.”

“A skink.”

“Well.” Anna fidgeted, running the nail of her index finger along the exposed grain of the chair. “Yeah.”

Kristoff sat up. “And who is ‘we’?”

“My sister Elsa.”

He stared at her. “You want to hire a guide to find a skink.”

“Technically we’re not going into the National Park. I mean, yeah, we’ll visit Ayers Rock, how could we  _not_ , but you’re right; we won’t need a guide. But we’re not staying there. The skink is just, um, one the animals we’re looking for, and it’s rare enough.”

“Back up,” Kristoff said, as a bored-looking waitress drifted past the table. “Two pints, please. Thanks. So,” and he turned his attention back to Anna, “you want a guide to one of the more dangerous inner Australian territories. Short notice, possibly long term. For a lizard.”

“A rare blue tailed skink.”

The waitress returned, dropping two sweating pint glasses in front of them. Overhead, a ceiling fan turned the air lazily, kicking up the ever-present dust. Anna reached over and picked up her glass, sipping experimentally before setting it back down on the table. There were no coasters, and the glass left a ring of water behind. She picked it up and down a few more times, drawing a pattern of concentric circles with the condensation.

Kristoff drained the glass in one go, burped, and sat back, eyeing her openly.

“Who  _are_ you?”

“I’m Anna Arendelle,” she said, extending a hand, which he took, and shook firmly, despite the look of suspicion still lingering around his mouth.

“Anna Arendelle,” he said. “I am retired. And I don’t want to go looking for a skink anyway.”

Anna chewed on her lip, then took another taste of her beer, considering. “How’re you retired, exactly?”

“It’s summertime in Australia,” Kristoff spread his hands out, as if to indicate the obvious. “It’s 45 degrees Celsius in the direct sun. There are no tourists except where there is water, which you may have noticed is not anywhere near here. The only way I’d be making money right now was if I were selling ice. By the  _block_.”

“That’s rough,” Anna said. “But that’s not retirement. Sounds like you need a job.”

“I’m out of the business.”

“You’re broke.”

“I am not,” he huffed.

“The barman - Oaken? - says you owe on your tab.”

“It’s  _Oaken’s_ ,” Kristoff said, sounding exasperated now. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “This place is a dump.  _Everyone_ owes on their tab.”

“EXCUSE ME?” A voice behind them said, and Anna and Kristoff both jumped. Kristoff’s knee jarred the table, sending the remainder of Anna’s drink sloshing across the wood, soaking his newspaper and dripping onto the floor.

“Pardon the violence, miss.” Oaken said, reaching over and fisting the back of Kristoff’s shirt.

*

*

“So that could have gone better, I admit,” Anna said.

Kristoff gave her a withering look, wincing a little as he picked himself slowly off the ground. “ _Really_. Here I was thinking it was going SPLENDIDLY.”

“You have gravel in your elbow.”

“Anna Arendelle,” Kristoff grumbled, brushing off his knees and pulling a set of keys from his pocket. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve got to be going now. Goodbye.” He turned, opened the door to a battered pickup and hopped in, slamming the door and leaving Anna standing alone in the parking lot, her hands on her hips.

He leaned out the open window, tipped his hat at her (Anna crossed her arms and glared), grinned, then turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing happened. He tried again. The truck spluttered reluctantly to life, and coughed a cloud of exhaust into the baked air. Kristoff put it into gear and tapped the gas. A second later a visible shudder ran the length of the vehicle, the metal groaned loudly, and it died, coming to a halt less than two feet from the cinder block tire guide.

Kristoff tried the key again, his attempts growing increasingly more frustrated until he yanked the key out with a growl, threw it into passenger seat, and swore inventively at the dashboard.

Anna stepped up to the window, rested the tips of her fingers delicately on the inside of the cab, and smiled.

“You know,” she said, “I have a car that works. Runs, I mean.”

“I just paid it off,” Kristoff said plaintively, still addressing the dashboard, and he slumped low against the back of the worn bench seat.

“Let me give you a ride home at least,” Anna offered, stepping back from the door and gesturing toward her Jeep. “I’ll only try to hire you a little.”

“A  _little_?”

“Kristoff,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You have a dead truck, an unpaid bar tab that’s as long as I am tall, and no job. And I promise: we pay really, really well.”

“It’s not that long. What exactly do you do again?” He asked, resigned, and reached to undo his seatbelt.

“I’m the host of a wildlife and travel show. Sort of. Mostly. It’s new.”

“I can’t believe this,” Kristoff said.

*

*

“I can’t believe this,” Elsa said.

Anna and Kristoff, both hovering at the door of the hotel room, exchanged a glance. Kristoff’s look was pointed; Anna’s expression, if given words, would have said ‘whoops, let’s just roll with it’. Elsa was familiar.

She closed her laptop with a snap, took two deep breaths, and resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. She managed it. Barely.

“Anna, I said to  _inquire_.”

“He was sleeping in his truck, Elsa. He didn’t have anywhere to go, and we do need a guide, you said so.”

“You don’t know anything about him!”

Anna pursed her lips and stepped fully into the room, dropping her bag into a small chair pushed up by the door and tossing her hat and jacket on the nearer of the twin beds. “I just spent two hours on the road with him. I know him, come on.”

“Right here,” Kristoff said, from out on the stoop.

“You can’t bring home a guy you just met,” Elsa said, in a tone that suggested the conversation should end. She picked up Anna’s jacket and folded it with a series of crisp and deliberate movements, then reached for the hat, which had slid off the bedspread onto the floor.

Anna snorted. “This isn’t home, it’s a hotel. Where else were we going to go back  _to_?”

“There is a difference,” Elsa snapped, jamming the hat onto a hook on the wall, “between  _hiring_ someone and  _inviting them to live with you_.”

“Elsa, he’s available. He’s experienced. Kai recommended him, his credentials are actually great. And we’re going into the  _outback_. It’s not like he’ll be able to commute, we’d be basically living with him anyway.”

“Still riiiight here.”

Elsa huffed, crossing her arms. She gave Kristoff a long look, then sighed. “You have your own things?”

Kristoff nodded warily. “Pack’s in the Jeep. I’m used to living outside. S’kinda what I do.”

“Oh great,” Elsa muttered darkly. “Did Anna go over business stuff with you yet?”

“Yeeees?”

“So you know what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to go book my own room,” said Kristoff, holding up his hands palms out, placating. “And get out of your hair. All of this crazy, crazy hair.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“I’m leaving! Leaving!” And he did, backing away quickly, his footsteps heavy on the sidewalk.

“I want to see your paperwork! Resume!  _References_!” Elsa yelled after him. She turned to Anna. “You. You are so. SO.”

“I’m excellent,” Anna said, laughing and flopping heavily on the bed. “I’m the best. I can just tell. This is going to be  _great_.”


End file.
